


Hair

by thetimba



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimba/pseuds/thetimba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a terrible idea for a sword fighter to have long hair, but the Inquisitor prefers to take that risk.  A chat with Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I gave my Inquisitor long hair, and then I though to myself 'Why on earth would she have long hair in combat?' (I kept my own long in the Navy, but I wasn't swinging a sword at people....) So I decided she'd have to have a reason, and this popped up.

The Herald was a sight to see on the practice field.  Though the battleaxe she wielded was almost as long as she was, she moved with a grace and speed that belied its bulk.  Not to say that she danced around, for her movements were sparse and economical; no theatrical twirls or grandiose movements, just brutal efficiency.  But there was a beauty in her deadly strikes nonetheless.

No small amount of people turned out to watch her when she made her way to the ring.  Cullen would never admit to being one of them, but he found a way to be outside to oversee training an hour before lunch more often than not. 

He couldn't remember when it had started, perhaps a comment about her footwork?, but nowadays, she came to him after a bout to ask for his opinion.  He usually had few complaints, but he’d offer what critique he could.  He’d started keeping water and bread on hand, ostensibly for his own comfort, though he never actual ate.  She would sit, and drink and eat and recover and they would...talk. 

He couldn't admit even to himself how much these moments meant to him; how much he cared that she would spend some of her rare free time with him.  He didn't dare distract her from her purpose with his ill-advised fascination, so he hid it behind polite, if formal advice, always with his hands on the hilt of his blade so he didn't give himself away by reaching for her.  Where he might guide another recruit bodily, he always stood well apart from her.  He always demonstrated with his own weapon, never with hers.

Today was no different.  She finished her bout, and came over, puffing.  She leaned her axe against a nearby crate and collapsed onto it bonelessly.  She held a hand out, and he offered her a cup of water, so used to the ritual that neither spoke. He waited while she collected herself. 

She looked up at him, mouth pursed in displeasure.   “Well, Commander?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again.  Tact or honest appraisal?

“That bad?” she laughed.

“You seemed distracted.”

She hung her head.   “I was.  I am.  It’s...the scouts at the Mire.  They haven’t returned yet.”

“They will.  You serve them better with focus on the field.” He cast about for a way to divert her attention, and saw her hair, pulled loose by her exertions.  “This is also a point against you,” he said, unable to resist reaching out to touch it.  He’d never seen it down; she always kept it knotted up and tight to her head, better to fit under a helmet.  It was surprisingly long. “It gets in your way, blinds you, and offers a handhold for opponents.  For a distance fighter: an archer, or a mage, perhaps it might not matter.  But a swordswoman...”

“I know.”  She tucked the wayward hair behind an ear.  “It’s just.  I can’t bear to have it cut.”

“Why?” He regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth.  Distance.  Detachment.  That was the key.

“It’s silly.”  She paused, considering.  “Remember I told you I was the youngest?”

“Yes.”  Of course. 

“Well, I’m the youngest by _years_.  When they’re being kind, people say I was a surprise.  Mother was so ill with my sister, father hadn't thought to have another child, and he doted.   I followed him everywhere.  As he turned more duties over to Tyson, he spent more time in the stills.  I was fascinated, and he thought it sweet, I suppose.  Ty was always more of a scholar than a fighter, and.  Well,” she trailed off.  “When it became apparent that I had an aptitude that surpassed our own arms-master, he sent away for another.”

Cullen nodded.  He suspected one of the reasons so many turned out to watch her at first was her status...that they continued to do so was a testament to her incredible skill.

“Ser Drenton was a beast of a man.  He had no patience for children and certainly no place teaching them.  Didn't want to take me on, but coin and the promise of favour will make many a man do things they might not otherwise.”

This Cullen knew.  “True.”

“Our first day, he was visibly upset to have to stoop to teaching a noble.  And a _girl_...he was harsh.  I thought that I could change his mind if I was good enough, worked hard enough.   It was...unpleasant.  He seemed to take great joy in trying to cause me injury.  I think he hoped to run me off.  He was hard, and he was rude, but he knew his business.  It was a bad time, but I was used to people being difficult about my training. Even though I came home with bruises daily, I told father I was happy and that was that.” 

“What-“ Cullen was at a loss for words.  “How-“

She smiled.  “I told you, adored me.  I made sure he never saw how bad it truly was, and I insisted that I keep going.  He never had the heart to tell me no.

“My hair was longer then,” she added, offhandedly, though there was a look in her eye that gave her words weight.  “I kept it braided back.  But, as you see...it doesn't always stay.  It was, oh two weeks in and my hair came loose, and it made him furious.  I still don’t know what set him off so.”

She reached up and touched her hair, unconsciously.  She took a sip of water and continued in a rush.  “He told me that little girls had no place pretending to be warriors, but that if I was going to play at being a man, he was going to make sure that I looked like one.” Another sip.  “He grabbed it up in one hand and cut it with his dagger.   I stood up and told him that that he was a brute but that he wasn't going to make me cry.  I went home and I managed to make it look less ragged, but...my mother...”she trailed off.  “Mother was very unhappy.”

Cullen felt the stirrings of rage settle low in his stomach.  “I assume your father had words with this Ser Drenton?”

“I couldn't tell him.  It would have been end of the lessons.  My mother was upset with my father for allowing me to fight with _our_ arms-master.” She smiled, but there was little humour in it. “When she found out that he’d actually hired a teacher, she was furious.  She wouldn't have allowed another.  It was Ser Drenton or nothing. So, I told them that I wanted it shorter, that I’d done it myself.”

Her words did little to still his anger.  For a man to treat a student in his charge with such...for the Herald to brush it off so!  He could barely speak.  “How can you say-”

 “It’s done now," she sighed, and looked up earnestly.    “I survived it.  And I believe with all of my heart that the reason that I am here still is because of what I learned from him.” 

“You cannot mean to say that his abuse-” He was shocked into silence by her hand on his arm.

“Can you tell me, honestly, that if I’d come to the Conclave barely able to swing a sword that I would have made it even as far as Haven?”

Cullen frowned as he considered her words.  How many of his own men had perished due to the demons at the rift?   “No, I suppose not.” He tried to push his rage back down.  The Herald was not a helpless apprentice and she didn't need him to fight battles long over.  She needed him focused on the future, not dwelling on his past. But he couldn't help adding "Students should never....there are better ways." 

 “Yes.  But not so many open to a young girl earmarked for the Chantry.” She shook her head.  “So, that’s why.   Ser Drenton was terrible.  He beat me near to a pulp daily.  And he cut my hair because he was a spiteful, vicious man who liked to hurt people.  But I wouldn't let him scare me then, and I won’t let him control me now.”

The strand of hair had come loose again. Cursing himself for his weakness, he tucked it behind her ear.  If his hand slipped a little and brushed her cheek, well.  It was cold out, and perhaps his hands weren't steady.  The touch steadied him, and he was calm again. “I didn't mean to bring back unpleasant memories.”

A weak smile.  “It’s alright. I should go.” She stood and gathered her weapon.  “Thank you for your time, Commander,” she said as she always did, if a touch sadly.  “I’ll try to focus.”

“Cullen. Please,” he replied. 

She waved a hand.

She’d come to him tired and pensive, but cheerful.  The thought that he had caused her to be otherwise caused him almost physical pain. But how to-his eye caught Cassandra as she headed towards the dummies for her own practice. “May I suggest Lady Cassandra?” he called after her.

“Hm?”

“She rarely has a hair out of place.  I’m sure she would be delighted to assist you.”

She laughed, as he intended, for Cassandra was well known for her speedy morning ablutions.  It was music to his ears.  “I’ll do that, Com—Cullen.”

He hid his foolish smile behind a cough, and told himself that his name sounded no different from her than it did from anyone else.   He turned to the Chantry.  There was much to be done if he wanted to have time free tomorrow.


End file.
